


Compromising

by unwindmyself



Category: True Blood
Genre: Angry Sex, Arguing, Banter, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Foreplay, Gags, Light Bondage, Sarcasm, Vampire Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-17
Updated: 2014-07-17
Packaged: 2018-02-09 06:20:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1972179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unwindmyself/pseuds/unwindmyself
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1986, during which a certain politician little sister knows what's good for her brother far better than he does but he still has to make a fuss about it.  (And that has very pleasant consequences.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Compromising

**Author's Note:**

> Because sometimes flashbacks just beg for extrapolation.

“Is this your idea of a joke?”

Honestly, Nora was expecting this. She’s a bit surprised it’s taken all of a week for it to come to pass – she only even agreed to accompany Molly to _Winnfield_ to track down some allegedly genius hacker vampire because that it was near enough to her brother’s new home that he’d likely be able to sneak away and find her. (Well, that and she knows that since Molly plans to spend a good few nights befriending said hacker before the purpose for their trip – recruitment – and therefore Nora herself even enter the picture, she’ll be left alone enough to ensure the necessary privacy.)

But when she hears his voice, gruffer and angrier than she’d imagined as he lets himself into her overpriced hotel room (registered under Mina Windsor – it’s one she’s been using for years), her shoulders tense instinctively; when she speaks her voice is pitched half an octave higher than usual. “You know I’m rubbish at jokes,” she says.

“Don’t play dumb,” Eric growls, and all in the span of a couple of seconds he’s slammed the door shut, sped over to her, spun her around by the shoulders. “We both know better than that.”

“Missed you too, brother,” she murmurs, smiling her most devilish smile. Pretend innocence never lasts long with her.

“Shreveport,” he hisses, fisting a hand in her hair and tugging her head back sharply.

“Quaint little town, isn’t it,” she replies all loftily, but it’s not the answer he was looking for, judging by the way he tightens his grip (though that just makes her squeak happily, so it’s not as menacing as he intended).

“It’s a desolate shitheap.”

“It’s a hell of a lot better than a stake to the heart.”

“And there wasn’t any in-between?”

Nora tsks, far more disapprovingly than she ought to be able to do with her head pulled so far back. “There’s only so much I can do.”

He growls again, pushes her against the bureau with a _thud_. “Or what?”

“You know what,” Nora retorts.

“Oh, yes,” Eric drawls, rolling his eyes and at the same time driving a knee up between her legs. “Heavens forbid your slacker brother undermine your pristine reputation.”

“Eric…”

“Heavens forbid your precious fucking politician buddies think less of you for associating with a known dissenter and rulebreaker.”

“It wouldn’t be safe for either of us,” she insists. “Especially now that I’ve had to stick my neck out for you like this. Honestly.”

Given that he’s not let go of her hair, said neck is still very much exposed, and instead of coming up with some clever rejoinder, Eric leans in to kiss it, hard and fast and greedy. “Good thing, then, they won’t see the evidence of me doing this,” he mutters, watching as blood vessels break and then heal instantly under his lips.

“They won’t see any evidence,” she agrees. “Of this or any other such thing.”

And then she kisses him proper, she drops her head abruptly and grabs at the back of his neck to bring him close, and it’s nice, it’s oh so nice, they haven’t seen each other in nearly a decade and there’s just no other kisses that are quite like theirs, but –

He’s not letting her off the hook so easily. He knows what she’s doing.

So he pulls back, he rips her blouse open: it doesn’t button, it’s one of the gauzy lacy ones that she hasn’t been able to get enough of since the 1960s, and it makes a satisfyingly loud sound as he tears it in two, matched only by the affronted little shriek she lets out.

“You never answered my question, Nora,” he says, voice a low rumble.

“Mm, repeat it?” she asks (even though she knows full well).

“Is this,” he begins, pausing to nip at her neck, “your idea of a joke?”

“This is my idea of saving your sorry life,” she whispers, venomous all of a sudden (because really, she does take it personally that he’s so offended by her attempts, that he apparently wouldn’t appreciate why she would make them). “Yours and that child of yours, who if accounts are to be believed has a good deal more common sense than you do.”

“I fear for the night the two of you meet,” he replies.

“Why is that?” she asks, though she knows that it’s a hypothetical like any discussions of her and his Pamela meeting are, since that can never happen.

“Because the way that the two of you go at me, I don’t think I’d survive a joint attack,” he declares.

Nora gives an indignant hum. “As if my _going on_ was never the only thing between you and the true death,” she exclaims. “Mister Act First, Think Never.”

“Miss Think Too Much, Act Too Little,” he snaps. “I suppose sitting around at your politician’s table arguing about things that _might_ happen is so much nobler.”

“Get used to that,” she retorts. “ _Sheriff_.”

“Oh, you bitch,” he shouts, suddenly hiking her skirt up around her waist so fast that it, too, rips.

“Excuse you,” she mutters, bringing a hand up to slap him (gently, but still).

And he catches said hand in midair, pins it and the other behind her at the small of her back. “I’m sure you’ll be able to afford new clothes, with that ridiculous tax you put on all of your underlings,” he grumbles.

“Oh!” Nora leans forward, drops her voice. “I think that’s what you’re the sorest about,” she observes sagely. “Having to take orders. Especially – if indirectly – from me.”

“I don’t _take_ orders,” he hisses.

“I don’t _take_ orders,” she mimics, doing a fair job of getting his cadence right even if she doesn’t even try to get his tone. “Sorry to say, brother, you do now. That’s the deal.”

“You just relish this, don’t you,” he mutters. The hand that’s not currently wrapped around her wrists brushes hair out of her eyes and he stares into them like he’s trying to decide how to take this.

“I relish that you didn’t meet the true death over a human nobody,” she corrects. “Seeing you forced into taking some responsibility and actually being held accountable by someone other than our Maker is an amusing bonus.”

It’s smug, it’s so smug, and all Eric can think to do in response is tighten his grip on her wrists and drag his teeth down her neck, hard enough to draw blood but only just. It’s meant as a sort of reprimand, but like all the rest it just seems to make her more amused, or more aroused, or more – who the fuck knows.

“You’re a brat, you know that?” he murmurs.

“You love it,” she sings out, grinning, and she squirms to pull one of her arms free, but he just shakes his head. Two can play that smugness game, apparently.

“Ah-ah,” he chides, unbuckling his belt and sliding it loose in one swift motion.

“I _see_ ,” Nora exclaims. “So you’re not _so_ deep in mourning for the poor little French girl.”

“Were you jealous of her?” he whispers, leaning close enough that she instinctively lets her eyes flutter shut.

“Of course I wasn’t,” she murmurs. “I knew she wouldn’t last. Just another one of your silly crushes.”

“You’ve always been cold when the mood strikes you,” he observes, and before she has a chance to question it he starts wrapping that belt around her wrists tight as he possibly can.

“So you mean to prove that you’re the one who _gives_ orders?” she asks, grinning (because this, this is a bonus too, of course it is).

“You love it,” he echoes, traveling a hand up her inner thigh. “I can feel how much you love it, _prinsessa_ , it’s enough to make me believe you don’t get nearly enough pleasure amongst your politicians.”

“I get plenty,” she replies haughtily. “You’re not the only one who gets a rotating cast of beautiful lovers to play with.”

“You’ll have to tell me about that sometime,” he murmurs, sliding two fingers into her and beginning to pump them almost lazily. “It seems unfair that your whole government should know the sordid details of _my_ love life and I don’t even know your other lovers’ names.”

“That’s what you get for broadcasting your affair all over the French countryside,” she points out.

He rolls his eyes, turns his attentions back to her throat; he can already feel her body starting to vibrate with need. “I wasn’t broadcasting,” he defends.

“Then how did it get out?”

“Your douchebag minions just love to poke their noses in where they don’t belong?”

“Douchebag minions to whose rank you now belong.”

“And you say I’m the asshole.” He kisses and bites all over her jaw, across her cheek. It’s hard enough that she squeals, but in the nicest of ways. “Running a terrible business is one thing, but roping me into your bullshit government? That’s vindictive, sister.”

“I prefer to think of it as poetic justice,” she murmurs, shifting her hips forward as best she can to demand he go harder (a demand that she knows is one he’ll listen to).

“Vindictive little bitch,” he elaborates, but with a note of fondness in his voice.

“But I’m a vindictive little bitch who you might actually get to see more often,” she points out. “Doesn’t that count for anything?”

“Silver-tongued temptress,” he says. “Do I need to find a way to still that silver tongue of yours, _älskling_?”

Her eyes go wide, she nods very excitedly. “It does seem apt,” she agrees.

So with his free hand Eric reaches into his breast pocket, withdraws an actual silk handkerchief (because sometimes, especially when he’s going visiting, he does love to play the dandy), balls it up. “Open wide, my love,” he coaxes, and when she obliges he slips the cloth between her teeth, then pulls the ribbon from her hair and wraps it around her head as security.

He knows what she says next is _thank you_ , even if it comes out only vowels.

“See, you’ve got much better manners for me now,” he smiles.

And she can’t help it, she preens at that, gives another near-incomprehensible _thank you_. Her eyes are lit up, her thighs are already quivering.

It doesn’t take terribly long to bring her (it never does when he’s to the point, he knows the tricks) and though the gag is stifling her shrieks Eric does one better by kissing her over it, muffling the sound even more with his own mouth until she’s stilled completely.

It’s a mew she gives next, the sort with a question mark that means _what about your orgasm?_ in no uncertain terms, and he shakes his head.

“In a minute, Nora,” he says. “It’s novel, the way that I suddenly don’t want or need to argue with you about the mess my life has become. Let me enjoy it.”

A violent roll of her eyes is the only appropriate answer to that, and so it’s the one that’s given.

“But as you said, _min drottning_ , it’s not all bad,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to her forehead before he picks her up, all but throws her to the bed, and climbs on after. “And that part is well worth it.”


End file.
